


Long, Slow, Deep, Soft, Wet Kisses That Last Three Days

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days." (<i>Bull Durham</i>) This story is only about one of those things, but it's an important one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long, Slow, Deep, Soft, Wet Kisses That Last Three Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [GK Anon Kink Meme 2](http://community.livejournal.com/combat_jack/15838.html).

Nate was on the phone in the kitchen when Brad got home. Judging by the tension around his eyes, the lines tight across his forehead, it was a work call. Brad hated those. Nate put in eighteen hour days most of the time and still had to field phone calls at all hours. It went with the job, and Nate loved the job, but he really had to learn to set the occasional boundary. It was nine o'clock on a Saturday, for Christ's sake.

Brad had apparently missed most of the call – thankfully – because as he was taking off his coat, Nate snapped into the phone. "You will fucking do it that way, or you will be cleaning out your desk. Yes, I'm serious. I've had enough to this bullshit. I don't give a shit that tomorrow is Sunday: I want a report in my inbox with twenty-four hours. Consider yourself lucky it's not twelve. Yes. Goodnight."

Nate ended the call and looked up at Brad, smiling at him as he made a show of turning off his phone. "Days like this, I miss issuing an order with the certainty that it would be executed without comment or complaint."

"I seem to remembering commenting a time or two," said Brad. He took out his own phone and turned it off. He wasn't on-call tonight: it was Ray's turn and he could deal with any client issues that came up at two in the morning. Not that there were many. He and Ray had built an internet security company that made the competition slaver with jealousy. SSD's biggest problem right now was corporate espionage. Bad idea, trying to spy on two former Recon Marines.

"You may have bitched and moaned, but that's what grunts do. Never once did I worry that you would not do what I said to the letter." Nate grinned at him. "That didn't start until I left the Corps."

Even then it had taken Brad some time to stop doing what Nate said when he used a certain tone. But now he paused and thought about whether it was what _he_ wanted to do. The first few years that they were out and living together had been fractious, but they'd both been too stubborn to leave, even at its worst. They'd sacrificed too much to have each other; neither of them was going to throw it away.

He put his arms around Nate and kissed him. "Honey, I'm home," he said.

"Hello, darling," said Nate, perfectly on-script. He laced his arms around Brad's neck. "I had a bitch of a day, I have to be back at work in ten hours, and I have no fucking idea what's for dinner. Welcome home."

"I can throw steaks on the barbeque," said Brad. He rubbed Nate's back, stopping to dig his thumbs into the knot he felt in Nate's shoulder blades. "Or there's that new Tex-Mex place on O Street."

Nate laughed. "Much as I hate to deprive you of the chance to ruthlessly mock yet another D.C. yuppie's failed attempt to make a burrito worthy of your cultured California tastes, I'd rather stay in tonight. Why don't we get together with Ray and Christie next week, and you two can do your ex-pat schtick?"

Brad thoroughly approved of Ray's wife. Christie was a California girl to the core: she knew how to wax a board, loved the Dodgers, and knew a shit guacamole when it came across her plate. "I'll set it up with Ray tomorrow." He dug his thumbs harder into Nate's back, which was just riddled with tension. It clearly had been one hell of a day. "You should get a beer and chill while I throw something together."

"But then you'd stop the backrub and I'd have to move," said Nate, resting his head on Brad's shoulder. "Are you starving?"

Like he gave a damn about his stomach with Nate draped over him like this. "No. But if we're not going to eat, we should take this somewhere more comfortable."

Nate sighed and bit lightly at Brad's shoulder. "I'm willing to go as far as the living room. Those are my terms and they're non-negotiable."

"You spend too much time around Oval Office types," Brad rolled his eyes.

"Job hazard," said Nate. "Especially since my office is only twenty feet from the president's."

"I fucking hope that Lyman never decides to retire. I'd never see you again if you were Chief of Staff."

"I wouldn't take it," said Nate. Brad didn't believe him at all, but that was a fight for another day. Or hopefully never.

"Well, sir, I accept your terms, but you're going to have to get to the couch under your own steam. I know that you're ridiculously catered to at work, but here you're just the guy I fuck now and then." Brad grinned when Nate bit him again.

"When I let you," said Nate archly. "Which may not happen for a while if you don't fall back into line, Marine. Unless, fuck, you keep doing that to my shoulders."

Brad kissed the top of Nate's head and then gently pushed him away. "I'll resume my ministrations on the couch," he said, taking Nate's hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

Their couch was custom-made, dark green suede built long and deep, so they could both stretch out comfortably, side by side. Brad had commissioned it when the company made its first million in sales. It cost a fortune, but was worth every penny. And, hell, half of Bravo Two fit on it when they had their east coast reunions.

He'd expected Nate to lay face-down and let Brad finish the massage, but instead he flopped down on his side, his back pressed into the back cushions. "Come here," he said, an order Brad wouldn't refuse in a million years.

He groaned as he lay down facing Nate. "Christ, this is comfortable. Clearly, we need to spend more time on it."

"The State of the Union is in a month," said Nate. "Regretfully, I don't anticipate being home for longer than a shit, shower, and shave until it's over."

Brad touched Nate's mouth, tracing his lips. "Long enough for me to suck you in the shower, at least."

Nate nipped at Brad's finger. "Maybe some days I can skip the shower and we can 69. Maximize our special time together."

Brad slide one leg between Nate's and draped the other one over his hip, tangling them up together. "I'll bring you lunch and you can fuck me in the Blue Room."

Nate raised an eyebrow. "All of your suggestions seem to focus on me getting off. Not that I object, I just think we can be a little more egalitarian than that."

"Well, let me put your Democratic mind at ease," Brad said. "I'll come home and defile myself on this couch every night, imagining all the filthy things I'm going to do to you over the Christmas break."

Nate cupped the back of his neck and drew him in. "I'll expect daily reports on your extra-curricular activities," he murmured, kissing him.

"Perhaps you'd enjoy occasional photographic evidence, sir."

"Pictures of you on this couch, jeans down to your knees, with your legs spread and your fingers working yourself open for the dildo I left on your side of the bed that morning," Nate agreed, and Brad felt his cock get harder as he pressed closer to Brad. "I'll make that mandatory on a weekly basis. I'll leave you some room for creative expression, of course."

"Good thing that you keep a change of clothes at work. I'm going to be so fucking creative you'll come in your pants." Brad kissed him, still keeping it light. "Or maybe Santos – who fucking needs to learn to knock – will walk into your office when you're reading the email, cock hard and leaking for me. He's the leader of the free world; you won't have any choice but to stand up. He'll see how hard you are, Nate. You won't be able to hide anything, and he'll pretend nothing is amiss. You two will talk about how to raise taxes and take away fundamental rights while he's smirking at you the entire time."

Nate closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and Brad smirked himself. He'd hit right on Nate's shame kink. Nobody else knew it was there and he loved that, knowing how debauched Nate was, even though he still looked as cherry as he had the first day he'd walked into the team leaders' office and pleasantly but firmly let them know he wouldn't take any shit, but he wouldn't send any down their way, either. Twelve years later and Brad could still remember how turned on he'd been by his new LT, trying to listen to the words coming out of his mouth, not think about the way that mouth would look wrapped around his dick.

He'd never have dreamed then that one day that mouth would be his to touch whenever he liked, that Nate would wear his ring around his finger and come home to him every night – even if it was just sometimes for an hour. He kissed Nate, leisurely taking time to open Nate's mouth with his own. Nate let him in and Brad slid in his tongue, twining it with Nate's.

Even though they were both rock hard, neither tried to intensify the kiss. One kiss turned into another, each one slow and languid. They tasted each other, sucking and licking. Brad put his arm around Nate, drawing him as close as possible with the leg over his, and Nate responded by cupping Brad's face and kissing it all over, little kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. He kissed each of Brad's closed eyelids before returning to his mouth, biting softly on his lower lip, then soothing it with his tongue.

They stayed like that for a long time, making out on the couch like teenagers who'd taken abstinence pledges. At one point Brad pulled off his shirt and then Nate's so he could feel warm skin on his, but kept his focus on Nate's mouth as he stroked his back and shoulders.

Still kissing him, Nate moved on top of Brad, stretched out so that he was lying on Brad's chest, one of his legs between Brad's. His thigh rubbed into Brad's cock, and Brad moaned and pressed back, but his need wasn't urgent. All he really wanted was this.

Nate's tongue tickled Brad's palette in what seemed to be a pattern. Brad focused and realized that Nate was making letters. _I love you._ Brad let him finish and then cupped Nate's head and kissed him deeply, fusing their mouths together until they were both out of breath. "I love you, too," he said as they pulled apart.

Nate smiled at him and then brushed one more kiss over Brad's mouth before laying his head on Brad's chest, right over his heart. Brad held him there, their arms wrapped around each other, until Nate's breath slowed and deepened.

Brad shifted so they would be more comfortable, careful not to jar Nate. There was a soft blanket draped over the top of the couch, and Brad pulled it over them. "Sweet dreams," he whispered, kissing the top of Nate's head. Nate murmured something at him, burrowing into Brad's chest. Brad kissed his head again and then closed his eyes.

He could still feel Nate's mouth as he drifted off to sleep. Nate's heart beat against his chest, resonating through his dreams.


End file.
